Q x Jules: The Ship We All Wanted
by bbdoll59xo
Summary: Quentin Coldwater learns to cope in a world without magic. Julia Wicker, in a rampant effort to forget her assault, clings to her childhood friend for life. This is based off the The Magicians, a TV adaptation of a book series by the same name.


Quentin Coldwater learns to cope in a world without magic. Julia Wicker, in a rampant effort to forget her assault, clings to her childhood friend for life.

It had been twelve hours since the Plumbers came and turned off the Wellspring, the source of all magic. All because of him. Quentin Coldwater tossed about in bed. Images of Ember's pale, swollen face flashed in his mind. The tyrannical Fillorian god's last words burrowed deep in his ears; Quentin cupped them and buried his face in his pillow. How could he have been so stupid? What did he think would happen other than the absolute worst? Quentin's breath caught in his throat and threw him into a coughing fit. He lay flush against the mattress. The only one who could've helped him now was God knows where dealing with her own problems. Quentin wondered for a moment how she was doing. He wasn't the only one dealing with the dark, the bleak and insufferable longing for a feeling that almost seemed too good to be true anyway. He wasn't the only one hurting. Quentin had to understand that, had to know and understand there was a world out there and he wasn't the only one suffering in it. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, dialed the only number he knew by heart second to his father's, and waited. She picked up on the third ring.

Julia Wicker woke from her trance with a start. The white haze blocking her thoughts lifted. The airy pockets of nothing grew heavy and bleak in her chest, anchoring her to her living room couch. The black shroud over her sight cleared. Suddenly she could smell—the congealed, pungent remains of a bagel she tried eating for dinner earlier and couldn't keep down, long flushed down the toilet but still noticeable if you pay close enough attention; the hydrangeas Quentin brought by a few weeks ago, now withered and dying on the windowsill; her B.O. God, she needed a shower. Julia stood on broken stilts for legs and, in wobbling to the utility closet to fetch a towel, heard two loud pings from her bedroom. Hearing was always the last sense to return after an especially long trance. She crossed into the room and grabbed her cell from the unmade bed. Q's contact info shown on the screen. When she answered, they were both quiet for exactly one minute and twenty-five seconds. Julia took the plunge.

"So, magic's gone."

"Every fucking bit of it," Quentin said, the bite in his tone echoing Julia's own bitterness about it.

"What if I told you it wasn't?"

Quentin gasped.

"I'd probably tell you that's a fat load, Jules."

Julia cracked a smile. It hurt. "Guess you'll have to come by and get your first facial."

Quentin's chuckle on the other line made something stir in her soul, something she was sure Reynard snuffed out.

"You just want to see me." Quentin said.

"I want to figure this out.."

Quentin probably smiled, Julia wasn't sure.

After they hung up Julia undressed and stepped into the shower. The world sank and stretched around her. Tears welled in her brown eyes. The marks Reynard left were all too raw for her to shake or run from. They say when you're scared of something it seems bigger than it really is—Julia's body was stained with gashes and bruises Reynard branded her with. Julia pawed at herself, a whimper in her throat. It took seconds for sobs to tear through her. She backed into a corner of the shower and let the stream of hot water drown her wailing. She was almost grateful for the heat; the sting could filter everything and give her some clarity. Julia let the water fill her healing cuts, wincing between shaky breaths and sniveling. A sole word shown with white hot intensity in her mind: Pregnant. Julia shut off the water and stumbled to her room, slipping on a robe and laying in bed. Her eyes were swollen half shut and trained on the ceiling.

Quentin stood at Julia's door, unsure of what to say. It had been a while since he stopped by. Last he visited, his childhood friend seemed more like a mannequin than a real, breathing person.. He almost had to force Julia to take the hydrangeas—her hands just wouldn't do what they were supposed to, fumbling and trembling on the vase. It's not like flowers were going to bring any lasting, or even temporary, comfort. Really, what do you do? What do you do when someone you love has been through the impossible? Did he make a mistake coming here? As Quentin mulled these questions over in his mind, footsteps from inside the apartment caught his attention. A second later their eyes locked. Quentin gave a labored wave, and Julia's answering smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"You ready?" Julia said.

"Not sure what I'm supposed to be ready for."

They sat in her quaint living room with glasses of wine and a plate of cheese and ritz crackers strewn across the beat-up coffee table. Quentin stuffed his face while Julia barely touched anything. Quentin would've pointed it out if he weren't so hungry.

"It's simple," Julia said, her legs drawn to her chest, hands balled. "Expect the unexpected."

Julia held out her palm and produced a spark. There was no incantation, she didn't cast with any Latin or High German or Arabic. Just pure, raw, wild energy she almost seemed to draw from within.

Quentin nearly choked on his snack.

"Holy shit, you weren't dicking around."

Julia smirked. "I don't tend to."

"How? How is this real? You're not fucking with me, right?" Quentin shot to his feet, mouth agape, and grabbed her free hand—the other slender set of fingers were finally making for a slice of cheese.

"Am I just really, really high? Did you put something in my drink?"

Julia shook her head, and the dull look in her eyes sobered Quentin. Her hand was cold and limp in his. Quentin gave it a squeeze and settled next to her. Oh. His mind flitted back to a dark, helpless time.

He saw Julia days after what had happened. They spent some time together on a night like this in her apartment. He gave her the flowers, she let him in, and they watched something on Netflix together in her living room. Quentin couldn't help but notice how close she was to him. She was practically in his lap. She smelled like rain. She was shaking, he remembered. It was a light tremor, but enough for him to notice and wrap his arm around her. He thought she was cold, and to his credit, it was sort of chilly. But then, to his chagrin, she was crying. She doubled over in his arms and bawled so hard, her voice was hoarse. All he could do was hold her, hold her and pray she would find it within herself to stop...and when she didn't, because she couldn't, he kissed her. He was stupid to think it would work, stupid to think she would pick up the phone after he'd made such an ass of himself that night. He only wanted to calm her down, to help her to see it wasn't her fault. Because it wasn't her fault. If anything, it was his. If Quentin had never shown her magic, if he never told her about Brakebills, she wouldn't be in this mess. It was Quentin's fault, he was sure of it. He was so stupid. He was so fucking, goddamned stupid. It should have been--

Hands, too cool and forgiving, cupped Quentin's cheeks and cleared the static in his ears. He didn't realize he had been crying until two delicate thumbs wiped at the corners of his eyes. Quentin dared to look down at the owner of those hands and found her face was damp, too. Julia's cheeks were slick with tears Quentin longed to kiss away. But he stayed still and waited for her next move, struggling to look her in the eye.

"I can hear you, y'know." Julia paused, clearing her throat. "Your thoughts." Julia let her fingers trail into his hair and settle on the back of his neck. Their knees were touching, and Q's bare skin was so warm against hers.

"How?" Quentin wasn't even looking at her anymore. He was looking just past her, seemingly stunned at this news, but totally expectant at the same time.

"I...I guess this thing has its quirks."

Quentin swallowed the stone in his throat. "You mean your…"

"HIS."

That was all it took to widen the closing gap between them. Julia ripped herself from Quentin, bolted to her bedroom, and slammed the door. She leant against it. Her breath came shallow, if at all. She couldn't catch it and didn't want to. Quentin's tentative footsteps were too soft and uncertain in her ears. Her nostrils flared at the audacity of them. Q was just outside her door when the tears began rearing their ugly heads. How dare he, how fucking dare he.

"Don't come any closer."

"Jules, I'm sorry."

"Swear to God, I'll rip your bleeding heart out!" Julia let out a cough. Her eyes welled, and she knew she wouldn't be able to stop if she kept talking. Julia sagged against the door. "You think this is a fucking baby shower? Think I'm just with child like this was my idea? Like I wanted any of this? 'Cause I just fucking wanted it, right. I wanted magic so bad, I was willing to whore myself out, right. I wanted Reynard to...to…"

Quentin twisted the knob and was surprised to feel the door give. He found Julia crumpled on the floor, robe open. She was swiping at her face like she was angry at her tears, like they betrayed her. He gathered her naked body in his arms and carried her to bed. He held her close, dotting her temple and forehead with kisses. And Julia, maybe against her better judgement, let the warmth and the tenderness enclose her. Q's voice was a deep warble in her ears.

"You're stronger than you think, Jules. None of this was your fault. There was nothing you could have done...I mean, he's a trickster god."

"That I summoned."

"Without knowing." Quentin kissed her cheek. "Julia, how could you have known?" He fought to control himself when she turned to face him. Julia's eyes were almonds. Her silence quieted the racing thoughts in Quentin's mind. He took a breath; but Julia stole it from him with an urgent kiss.

Julia quickly realized what was happening but couldn't stop herself. She knew she was naked, and Q wasn't. But she could change that. Q's breath was sweet white wine, and his lips were velvet. His touch was a fire she longed to bathe in. Julia beckoned his mouth with her tongue and groaned when he let her in. It felt so good to be in control. Q strained against her, his hardness begging to be touched. Julia ground into him. His answering smack of her bare ass had her scrambling to unzip his shorts. Q suckled and nibbled at her breasts, smiling at her moans. He took to her neck, kissing deeply and licking. Her damp, frizzy, soft hair fell in ringlets over his head. Quentin wanted to see it splayed on her pillow, wanted to make a mess of it. In a fit, he flipped her on her back and slid his hand between her legs.

Julia's ragged breathing hitched. She froze, eyes wide. Q rested his hand atop her thigh, stroking the soft inner skin with his thumb. Julia shivered.

"Should we stop?" Q was mousy again, backing up, his hair flopping over his eye in a way only he could pull off. Julia fought a smile. She was quiet for a moment, and then with a certainty she didn't think she could muster, said, "I want to be on top."

Q was quick to comply, tucking himself under her.


End file.
